Its tumult and wrath in, till in this rapid

race

On which it is bent, it reaches the place
Of its steep descent.

The cataract strong then plunges along
Striking and raging as if a war waging

Its caverns and rocks among; rising and leap

ing,

Sinking and creeping, swelling and sweeping, Showering and springing, flying and flinging, Writhing and ringing, eddying and whisking, Spouting and frisking, turning and twisting, Around and around with endless rebound; Smiting and fighting, a sight to delight in; Confounding, astounding, dizzying and deafening

The ear with its sound.

Collecting, projecting, receding and speeding, And shocking and rocking, and darting and parting,

And threading and spreading, and whizzing and hissing,

And dripping and skipping, and hitting and splitting,

And shining and twining, and rattling and battling,

And shaking and quaking, and pouring and roaring,

And waving and raving, and tossing and crossing,

And flowing and going, and running and stunning,

And foaming and roaming, and dinning and spinning,

And dropping and hopping, and working and jerking,

And guggling and struggling, and heaving

and cleaving,

And moaning and groaning;

And glittering and flittering, and gathering

and feathering,

And whitening and brightening, and quiver

ing and shivering,

And hurrying and skurrying, and thundering

and floundering;

Dividing and gliding and sliding,

And falling and brawling and sprawling,
And driving and riving and striving,

And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling,
And sounding and bounding and rounding,
And bubbling and troubling and doubling,
And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling,
And clattering and battering and shattering;

Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting,

Delaying and straying and playing and spraying,

Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing,

Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling,

And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming,

And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping,

And curling and whirling and purling and twirling,

And thumping and pumping and bumping and jumping,

And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing;

And so never ending, but always descend

ing,

Sounds and motions for ever and ever are blending,

All at once and all o'er, with a mighty up

roar,

And this way the water comes down at

Lodore.

IT NEVER COMES AGAIN.

R. H. STODDARD.

There are gains for all our losses,
There are balms for all our pain;
But when youth, the dream, departs,
It takes something from our hearts,
And it never comes again.

We are stronger and are better
Under manhood's sterner reign.
Still, we feel that something sweet
Followed youth, with flying feet,
And will never come again.

Something beautiful is vanished,
And we sigh for it in vain.
We behold it everywhere,
On the earth and in the air,
But it never comes again.